Snow

The air held a deep and biting chill on the morning Will Richardson woke up for the last time. Another heavy storm had come through the night before, re-frosted the streets, and added five inches to the already high drifts of snow the plow had pushed to the curb. Richardson, who had been “Richie” to his Navy buddies, “William” to his wife, and “Commander Will” to the neighborhood since leaving both some twenty years before, leaned against the doorframe and crossed his thin, partially tattooed arms against the cold. He sucked in a breath of wintery air, rolled it around, then spit it back out.

               “Goddamn nuisance,” he said, and went back for a heavier coat.

Richardson had patrolled the same eight blocks over the same four streets nearly every day for the last two decades. There had been an occasional break (a day or two for the flu, a week once a year to visit his daughter Sarah in Arizona, and one particularly grueling two-month period following a hip replacement) but as a general rule, rain or shine, come what may, Commander Will made his rounds.

               Of course, the recent storms had brought more than just rain. The winter, it seemed, had been going forever, and while the early season had brought mostly overnight chills and small, daytime flurries, the snows had begun in earnest over the last two weeks. The Monday before last Will had looked out his door expecting to find the sleepy, tree-lined neighborhood to which he had become accustomed and saw instead a great, sprawling landscape of unfamiliar snowdrifts that seemed to stretch on forever. The neighborhood had seen snow before, but never to such an extent, and the amount that had fallen since was more than enough to set an all-time record.

Now, stepping carefully out his door, wrapped in his warmest down jacket and leaning heavily on his ice-tip cane, Will felt a twinge of uncertainty. The latest storm had completely transformed the neighborhood. What was once familiar had turned completely alien. Across the street, Dr. Allen’s prized Corvette had all but disappeared beneath a blanket of white, as had the jumbo trampoline he had installed for his grandkids the previous fall. In the yard to the left, the Burgans’ tire-swing had vanished beneath the snow, as had most of the tree supporting it. Over on the right, Will could hardly make out the large picture window where Connie Nelson sat most mornings with her tea to watch the hummingbirds at her feeder. In fact, no one seemed to be around at all. Snow had a way of quieting things certainly, but the neighborhood felt less quieted and more…deserted.

Will thought about going back. He wasn’t decrepit by any means, but a man of his age could still get into trouble going out on the ice alone, and with the lack of activity it could be quite some time before anybody came should he get into trouble. Still, while the lawns and sidewalks were covered in snow, the streets appeared relatively clear. If he could manage to navigate the driveway to the curb he would be fine. Besides, over his many walks he had learned the location of every root, pothole, and disturbed section of ground. Bad weather hadn’t stopped him in the past and it wouldn’t stop him today. With a resolute nod, he tightened his grip on his cane, closed the door behind him, and stepped carefully into his yard. He made it only a few steps before something caught his eye.

A ray of fleeting sun shone for a moment on something small, golden, and round partially embedded in the slightly melted peak of the nearest snow bank.

“What the hell?” Will said.

               He squinted, but he couldn’t make it out.            

With his cane in one hand and the other held out for balance, Will approached the half-hidden object with a dawning sense of disbelief.

It was a Distinguished Service Medal, the kind awarded in the military for, as they put it, “exceptionally meritorious service.” Will had received his own from the Navy following a near-suicidal Hail Mary in the final days of Vietnam. The maneuver he had attempted never should have worked, but it had, and victory the there and the recognition he’d received afterward had been the highlight of his career.

 “But I lost it,” he said aloud, plucking the medal from the snow.

He shook away the clinging ice, causing the gold and purple ribbon to whip back and forth like a banner in wind. The medal lacked any sort of inscription, as was customary, but there was something about it, some small scuff or barely frayed corner that tugged at Will’s memory with curious strength. It was his, he was nearly certain of it, but how was that possible? His medal had been lost for decades. He’d gone looking for it at some point, thinking he might gift it to Sarah’s son Jacob when the boy followed in his grandfather’s footsteps and joined the Navy, but he had never managed to locate it. Yet, here it was, he was certain now, on a pile of snow outside his front door. A plow could have kicked it up from the street, Will supposed, but as to how it could have ended up there in the first place…

               Another flash caught Will’s eye near the end of his yard.              

“What the hell?” he said again, and went cautiously forward.

                The object he pulled from the ice was an antique pocket watch with a long, golden chain and a carefully etched image of an eagle on its gleaming outer shell.

               “How…?” he began, with a long breath that was almost a laugh, “I haven’t seen this in…”

 He grasped the chain near its base and spun the watch around. There it was, the inscription he somehow knew he’d find.

               “Ours is a timeless love.”

               The words had been something of a joke as the watch had never correctly told time, but it had belonged to Ellen’s late father and, knowing that Will had long admired it, she made a gift of it on the day they were married. Their love hadn’t exactly been timeless, but they had managed to put in a solid effort, and they had produced Sarah, for whom Will would have endured any hardship.

He tried to recall where he’d last seen the watch. Before he’d moved to the neighborhood? After? He had some dim recollection of it hanging by a fireplace, but that seemed almost a dream.

Another flash, this one of silver, shone suddenly from across the street.

“What the hell is going on?” Will said.

               Stowing the watch and medal in his jacket pocket, he crossed out of the yard and carefully entered the street. He had expected ice on the pavement, but found almost none. Indeed, as he approached the snow piled at the edge of Dr. Allen’s yard it seemed as though the winter air had lost some of its chill. The drifts of snow seemed lower, and the landscape beyond them less obscured. 

               “Probably hypothermia,” Will laughed, “either that or I’m crossing to the other side, seeing my life flash before me as a parade of once-important things.”

               The idea had occurred in jest, but all at once felt alarmingly real. For the second time he thought of turning back.

               “No shame in it,” he muttered. “Been brave my whole life. No need to prove it now.”  

               But of course he did, or rather, he would. He had to know what lay before him on the snow. Going quickly forward he caught the polished, metallic corner of the object and lifted it free from the snow.

               “Oh my god,” he said, hot tears welling in his eyes. “Oh my god.”

               The object he held was a small, silver-plated picture frame with a pattern of ships, nets, and seashells. The photo displayed beneath the glass showed Will as a sturdy young man in faded blue work jeans and a black t-shirt balancing a ludicrous amount of vanilla ice cream on a cone that was far too small. Perched precariously on his shoulders, seven years old in bright purple overalls and messy strawberry pigtails, Sarah smiled distractedly for the photo while reaching out with both hands and every fiber of her being for the ice cream before her. Ellen had taken the photo at some long-lost county fair, and Sarah had signed the lower edge with a pink, curlicued scrawl, purchased the frame with her own money, and left it on his desk for Father’s Day.

               That little girl had been Will’s angel, his reason for living, the greatest thing he had ever done. The day Ellen snapped that photo had been the best of his life, and years later, when the photo was all he had left, it had become his most treasured possession. The day he discovered that it had inexplicably vanished had been one of nearly unbearable pain. But here it was again, back in his hands, seemingly untouched by time, a gift from the snow.

               “You came back to me,” he said, tears streaming down his cheeks, “you came back.”

               “Of course I came back.”

               Will turned at the voice and found her there, his angel in white with her fiery crown of red hair. His beloved daughter whom the cruelty of time had taken away.

               “Sarah!” he cried, reaching out for her.

               She did not return his embrace.

“No Will, I’m Joanna, remember? Sarah’s your daughter. She’s the one in the picture. We do both have red hair though, so I can see how you’d be confused. Hers is much nicer though.”

Will stared at the woman in confusion, trying to focus though his tears.  

“You got up early,” she kept on, “Must be a Navy day. Is that why you have your jacket on? Are you back on the ship?”

               “I…. No,” Will stammered, overwhelmed, “I…It was for the snow.”

               “In the middle of summer?” the woman asked.

               “Summer?”

Will’s question set off a chain reaction. The once frigid air faded to room temperature and the snowdrifts that had dominated the landscape melted away, fading from a sea of frozen monuments to a crowded, semi-circular assortment of lived-in furniture arranged on a dingy white carpet. Through the nearby window Will saw a battered blue Toyota parked where Dr. Allen used to keep his Corvette, and the tree that had once supported the Burgan boys tire swing now lay rotting against a half-fallen chain-link fence. On the right, Connie Nelson’s picture window had been boarded up and her bird feeder abandoned.

               But worst of all was Sarah. Or rather, the woman Will had briefly mistaken for her. Joanna was nearly sixty with bad skin, strained white capris with a tightly fitted blouse, and a head of haphazardly gathered, poorly dyed red hair that did not resemble Sarah’s in the least.

               “Is it coming back?” Joanna asked. “Do you know where you are, Will? You’re at home.”

               “I know I’m at home!” he snapped, surprising them both. “I’m always at home! You never let me leave!”  

               And then it all came flooding back. The hospital visits, the failed medications, the decision, largely made without his consent, to find someone local who could care for him. He recalled that Ellen had come down from Boston to help, but given up in frustration and how Sarah, his sweet Sarah, had looked at him with sad, apologetic eyes while she answered the doctor’s questions and filled out the paperwork on her father’s behalf.

               “Joanna,” Will recited numbly. “You live here with me. You take care of me. You’re my health care worker.”

               “That’s right, Will,” she said. “Now you’ve got it. Hey, would you like some tea? I was just about to…”

               But Will wasn’t listening.

“I lost this,” he said, staring at the picture in his hands, “I lost this and everything. How did I lose them? I used to look at them every day.”

 “You still do, Will,” Joanna said kindly.

She took his arm and guided him to the mantle.

“You put all your important things up here so you wouldn’t lose them, remember? There’s your baseball glove, and your Navy hat, and your pocketknife.”

“It was my dads,” Will said, gathering the items to him. “We used to play baseball in the street. But I can’t go out there anymore.”

“No honey, you can’t.”

“I just wanted to see Sarah.”

“I know you did, honey, I know. You’re always looking out for her, aren’t you, you sweet thing?” She’s coming, Will. She’ll be on her way soon. We gave her a call and she’s looking into flights. And she’s bringing Jacob! Isn’t that exciting? The Navy gave him leave so you could all spend some time together.”

               Will looked at Joanna with shining, tear-filled eyes.

               “Sarah? Sarah’s coming to see me?”

               “That’s right, Will. Do you remember now?”

               Will shut his eyes and exhaled a long, steadying breath.

               “Yes. I do.”

               “Good. That’s good, Will. It’s all worked out, okay? She’ll probably fly in tomorrow. And I just know she’s gonna be thrilled to see you. Just hang in there one more day, okay? Think you can do that?”

               Will turned to regard the neighborhood where he used to walk so often before the long winter had come with its heavy storms of piling snow. It was happening again. He saw the drifts forming in his yard and knew they would soon be at his door.

               “But I can wait,” he thought, determined. “I can wait for Sarah.”

 Gathering his most precious memories to his heart, he sat down in the chair nearest the door to wait for his angel.